With You
by X.Kuchisake-Onna.X
Summary: A suicidal Mort is found by a young punk woman and taken under her wing. She is non-mutant, and for that reason alone he should hate her. But after leaving the Brotherhood he has come to realise not all regular humans are so bad. MortOC. Ultimate with Movie influences.
1. Chapter 1

Mortimer Toynbee stood at the edge of the cliff, bare toes curling around the sparse grass that surrounded him. He looked down at the waves below, crashing against the side of the cliff and rolling over the sharp, jagged rocks.

Would he make it to the bottom? Or would he die before he even hit the water? He didn't care. He didn't care about anything anymore.

He glanced at his hands, which were so tightly clenched they were turning white. Those damn hands. Mottled green, webbed, _disgusting_. Why did he have to turn out like this? Why couldn't he have been born a normal kid, able to live a normal life? Because life was shit, that was why. He had been fucked up the moment he was born, and things had only gotten worse.

Now he had left the Brotherhood, and he had nothing.

Sharp nails dug into the palm of his hands, drawing blood. He closed his eyes, focusing on the pain. Sometimes the pain helped. Today it didn't. It just made him feel more miserable and tormented.

Letting out a ragged breath, Mort opened his eyes. It was better to just end it. _Ge' on with i_', he told himself, _it's not like things are gonna to ge' be'er. The world would be be'er withou' your sorry ass, anyway_.

He inched closer to the edge, and he could hear the foamy waves as they battered against the earth.

Ge' on with i', his mind told him. But he couldn't. Watching those rocks gleam in the water terrified him. Even when he wanted it to end, he was too afraid to actually do it. Pathetic.

So he stumbled away from the edge and turned his back on the cliff, breathing heavily and feeling sick.

Maybe another day, but not today.


	2. Chapter 2

Mort stood at the cliff again, staring blankly at the ground in front of him. He was going to do it for real this time. He couldn't keep going the way he was. It would drive him crazy and it wasn't worth it. Things wouldn't get better. They never did. He was living in a world where anyone different was scum, and he was as different as they came. A fucking freak. He had no life and no future.

He had caused so many people so much pain. He deserved this for what he had done with the Brotherhood. He had never wanted to, but he went along with it because with the Brotherhood he felt like he he _belonged_. He would have done anything for them, because he needed them and he was too much of a fucking coward to take a stand and say no.

But even that sense of belonging hadn't lasted. The Brotherhood were the worst people imaginable, and he had been one of them. But when it came down to it, they had never really cared about him.

Glowing yellow eyes looked straight ahead as Mort forced himself to relax. In a few short moments, nothing would matter.

He took a deep breath and prepared to jump.

* * *

Lydia Doran held a huge bouquet of white roses and lilies in her hands as she climbed out of her car. _Okay,_ she told herself, _you can do this. No waterworks and no chickening out._ She swallowed thickly as she took the first step towards the cliff.

This was for her brother. Her wonderful, funny, adoring brother who she loved _so much_. The same brother who had thought no one cared and flung himself from that cliff exactly a year before. His body was never found. Carried too far downstream or something. Lydia thought it was bullshit. He wasn't rich or famous or influential in any way. He was just some stupid kid who decided life was too much, so he had been forgotten, fading into the background to be replaced by cases deemed 'more worthy' of police time.

The funeral had been tearful. Over a hundred people turned up; family, friends, even neighbours they had never spoken to. Lydia's best friend had gone with her for support, and the two of them cried the entire time. It had never been a proper funeral – with no body to bury it had seemed fake, unfair. He deserved a proper burial, but he was denied even that. It was cruel.

She had worn her gold choker, which she hadn't looked at in years before. It had been his favourite, and he always told her she should wear it more.

She hadn't taken it off since. She just couldn't – it reminded her too much of her baby brother. Hell if she was going to forget him like everyone else did.

With slow, shaky steps Lydia approached the spot where her brother had jumped. She squeezed her eyes shut as she placed the flowers gently on the ground. She wouldn't cry. She refused to cry. Because that wasn't what Daniel would have wanted. She had to be strong for him, for her family, for herself.

"Hey darlin'," Lydia whispered, with only the wind to hear her. "I miss you, you know. Life's shit without you. But we're getting there." She paused there, wiping at her face with a wavering hand. No. She would not cry. She had told herself that a million times and she would stick to her guns.

She sat back, allowing the cool breeze to calm her. "I have to go now," she murmered. "Sorry darlin', but I moved back in with mom and you know what she's like." She allowed the tiniest smile to grace her features. "I love you."

When she got to her feet, she noticed she wasn't alone. Someone else was standing by the edge of the rock, head bowed, arms held stiffly by their side.

Oh fuck. He was going to jump.

"Hey!" Lydia didn't bother to keep the panic out of her voice. Heart beating fast, she sprinted closed, stopping a few metres away. Get too close and it might be all he needed to convince him to do it. "Get away from there!" Her voice was breathless, scared.

The man turned. Lydia couldn't see him well, but he looked... odd.

"Wha' the fuck do ya wan'?" He was English. English and angry.

"Please. Get away from the edge, okay?" Lydia reached out a hand, and the man flinched back.

"Jus' fuck off and leave me alone, righ'?" A pause. "Why do ya care anyway?"

Eyes burning, Lydia blinked rapidly. "I care because you're going to _kill yourself._ And that's a horrible thing to want to do." She inched closer. He was going to do something crazy and she had to stop him. "Whatever it is, I'm sure someone can help," she offered. He was so close to the edge, one step forwards and he would fall. Oh God he was so close.

"You don' fuckin' ge' i', do ya? No one fuckin' cares!" The man was almost snarling and it was terrifying, but behind that there was so much pain and Lydia could see that. She had to help him. She didn't know how but she had to at least try. Because she couldn't save her brother, and that still hurt, but that didn't mean this guy had to die too.

He whipped his head away from her, long hair flying. Lydia could see his whole body relax, and then he fell.

Lydia screamed as she ran forwards. She had never ran so hard in her entire life. It burned her calves and she felt her cardigan slip from her shoulders but none of that mattered.

She caught him around the waist and threw herself backwards with all of her strength. She hit the ground hard, pulling the man down beside her. She gasped as fiery pain shot up her spine, as if someone had struck her in the back. _Fuck_ that hurt!

* * *

This girl just wouldn't quit, would she. Couldn't she see that he didn't want this anymore? He wanted to die, and she wouldn't let him.

Why would a complete stranger care about him? Was she trying to be some sort of hero? Well, she didn't have to.

With an angry snarl, he turned his back to her. Without giving himself a chance to change his mind, he stepped forwards and felt his legs give way beneath him.

But he didn't fall straight down, he fell _backwards._ Something snaked around his waist and he was tugged backwards, landing on the hard ground a second later.

It was that damn woman, trying to save him again. Fuck her.

But when he looked up, he could see her. Dark brown hair framing a round, childish face. Dimple piercings and a lip stud that was red and puffy. New. She was wearing a tight black top with a pink cardigan that was hanging off her, now smeared with mud. Tattoos laced her arms in an intricate flower pattern which on any other day would have been interesting and cool, but now were completely irrelevant. Irrelevant because she was crying. Fat tears rolled down pale cheeks and she was frozen in shock, completely unmoving except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She was scared. Scared _of_ him, or_ for_ him?

* * *

And now Lydia could see him, too. Patchy, unevenly coloured green skin which looked rough yet felt almost clammy beneath her hand as she held onto his waist. A shaggy mop of blackish green hair hanging over his slim, almost malnourished face. And his hands. His hands were fucking webbed. How was that even a thing? Pure black eyes with startling yellow iris' that stared right at her, just as wide as hers felt.

Slowly she sat up, wincing as the red hot pain dulled to a pulsing ache. She blinked, and for the first time noticed her face was wet. She didn't know it was raining.

_Oh,_ she thought, _not rain. Tears. My tears._ So much for her promise.

She struggled to her feet, trying to even out her breathing, otherwise she swore she would hyperventilate. The last time she had done that was when her mom told her Daniel was gone.

"Please, for Christ's sake, don't try that again," she finally spoke. "Fuck! _Fuck!_"

He also got to his feet, shaken but holding it in much better than Lydia could ever try.

"Why'd ya do tha', huh? Could ya not have jus' left me. eh?" His golden eyes were narrowed accusingly, but Lydia could still see the pain he was trying too hard to hide.

"No." It was true. She could never have left him. The second she saw him she knew she had to do _something_. She couldn't leave him to die. "No. Because you don't deserve to die and I want to help you."

He snorted out a humourless laugh. "Righ'. Love, ya can' help me. No one can. I'd be be'er off dead, ya know." He said it with no emotion. So casually, as if it meant nothing.

"I knew someone who thought the same thing. They were so wrong." More tears trickled down her cheeks and she let them. She didn't care about hiding it anymore.

"Yeah, maybe. But I'm _righ'_. No one cares 'bout me, an' life's fuckin' shi'."

"Don't say that. Just don't. Things do get better. I should know." Before she knew what she was doing, Lydia hugged him.

* * *

She was hugging him. Why the fuck was she hugging him? Mort jerked away, eyes wide.

"_Ge' off me!_" His voice was less of a yell and more of a screech. "Wha' the fuck are ya tryna pull?

Lydia stared. Mort stared back.

"Why are ya so desperate ta help me? Ya get your kicks outta this or somethin'? He was so _angry_. He had never felt so angry before in his life, and he had been furious plenty of times before. His fists clenched by his side as she strode forwards, trying to shove his way past the stupid woman.

But she stepped out in front of him, blocking his path with her short, thick body. "I want to help, because my fuckin'_ brother_ killed himself here last year. And I never ever want to see someone go through all that pain again!" Her voice was shaky and she was still crying, but there was a look of determination on her delicate face that told Mort she was serious.

For whatever reason, she genuinely wanted to help him. Well, she would be severely disappointed when she found out how broken he was. He was unfixable.

"Where are you going?" Mort winced as she spoke again. Her high pitched, Southern accent was grating on what little nerves he had left.

"Home," he snapped, golden eyes narrowing.

"Where's home? Can I drive you there?" She sounded so sincere, and Mort hated her for it.

Mort didn't _have_ a home. He lived in a run down garage shop which hadn't been used in years. But he wasn't going to tell her that. He didn't need any more pity from her.

"None of your business."

"Look, come on. Please? Or crash at my place. I only live ten minutes away; you can sleep in the spare room and leave tomorrow." And suddenly she was in front of him again, waving her arms and getting in his personal space. Fuck, she was annoying.

"No. I'm bein' serious, I don' need anyone ta baby me."

"Please?" He looked down to see sparkling green eyes staring up at him hopefully.

She was a fucking idiot, inviting a complete stranger into her home like that. Did she have no common sense whatsoever? Was she really so ridiculously empathic that she would do that for someone? For _him?_

But he would get a warm bed. Even if it was just for one night, it was more than he had had for years. He had almost forgotten what it was like to sleep in a real bed.

"Please?" she asked again, voice quiet.

Heaving out a ragged breath, he nodded. "Fine. Whatever. If it'll shut ya up, then I'll do i'." At least then he could get her off his back. And as soon as she was gone, he was coming back here to finish the fucking job.

Slowly, a small smile settled onto her face. "Okay, great. My car's over there." She jerked a thumb in the direction of a huge black four-by-four.

She began walking, gesturing for him to do the same. She never took her eyes off him the entire time.

_Talk abou' over-protective,_ Mort thought bitterly.

He climbed into the passenger side of the car, watching as she settled herself into the driver's side. She was pretty cute. _No' tha' I care,_ he told himself.

They drove in silence for what felt like hours. Mort sat with his feet curled up onto the seat, not caring that to her it probably looked weird. If she didn't like it, she could suck it.

He stewed in his own morbid thoughts, until the silence was broken by that horrible Southern voice again.

"So, what's your name, huh?"

"Toad," he replied shortly, turning away from her. He could feel her gaze burning into the back of his skull. disapproving, _judging_. But when he finally turned to face her, her eyes were fixed on the road ahead.

"I meant your real name," she answered, bluntly but not unkindly.

"Jus' Toad," he repeated with finality.

"I'm Lydia," she offered, giving him a sidelong glance.

"Don' care wha' your name is."

More silence. It was tense and awkward and Mort hated it, but it was better than having to talk to this infuriating little shit.

Mort closed his eyes. It felt like only a second but when he opened them, Lydia had opened her door and was fumbling with her handbag. She soon stepped through the front door to a small bungalow, ushering Mort inside, too.

It was small. Tiny, in fact. The living room and kitchen were in the same space, separated by a half-wall. Three doors led to what Mort presumed were two bedrooms and a bathroom. It was all kept relatively tidy, but there was the typical mess of a young adult on the coffee table; books piled up, coffee stains, old mugs lying empty.

Lydia flicked on a light and Mort winced at the sudden brightness. Great, now she was going to be able to see him in all his freakish glory. At least then, maybe she wouldn't want him to stay the night, and she would leave him the hell alone.

But when she turned around to look at him, he only received a slightly surprised raise of the brows and a bright smile. She must just be good at hiding shock.

"Spare room's that door there," Lydia gestured vaguely to the door closest to the kitchen. "Bathroom's beside it."

"Righ', thanks." Mort barely gave her a passing glance as he brushed past her, saying nothing more as he abruptly made his way to the bedroom.

* * *

When Lydia turned on the light, she heard Toad make a muffled noise of discomfort behind her. Was he sensitive to light or something? It wasn't_ that_ bright. She used energy saving bulbs for God's sake.

She turned around. Oh, wow. He was _green_. She knew he was green, but it had seemed a lot duller when it was dark. But no, he was a very deep, very obvious green. And his eyes - they were so _bright._ They almost glowed.

He wasn't frowning, but he looked so sad, so hopeless. Lydia's heart really went out to him.

She was staring. She realised that and quickly looked away. "Spare room's that door there. Bathroom's beside it."

She had barely finished her sentence when he stormed off, muttering a quiet "thanks". The door slammed behind him, a little harder than necessary.

Lydia was left alone to reflect on what had happened. She had invited a random stranger into her house. She didn't know him. He was a mutant in a very anti-mutant world, and he was staying with her. He was suicidal. Would he try again the second she let him go home?

Oh Jesus, what had she gotten herself into?


	3. Chapter 3

Mort woke up only an hour after he went to sleep, but he couldn't figure out why. He was disorientated for a moment, as his vision adjusted to the darkness. Where was he? Oh yeah, that weird chic had insisted on making him stay. Right. But that still didn't explain why he had woken up.

And then he heard it. Soft, almost inaudible crying coming from outside his door. What the hell?

Cracking his door open ever so slightly, he could see Lydia sitting on the sofa, curled up with her head on her knees. It was hard to see in the dark - even with his ability to see better in dim light - but she was shaking.

God, all she did was cry. Putting emotions on display so easily was stupid. It made you vulnerable.

_Because my fuckin' brother killed himself here last year._

Oh, yeah. Fuck, he had really been an ass to her, hadn't he? And she must have already been upset about her brother. He almost felt guilty. Almost but not quite, because he was still angry at her for stopping him from jumping.

He pulled the door closed again, but it creaked on its hinges. Lydia looked up, blinking. She quickly scrubbed at her eyes. There was no point - he had already seen her. But Mort guessed she didn't know that he had been watching.

"Oh, hi. What are you doing up?" she questioned, managing to keep her voice level surprisingly well despite the waterworks.

"Jus' gettin' a drink," he replied casually, avoiding eye contact. He felt awkward enough just being there, never mind having to deal with her having an emotional breakdown, too

"Glasses are in the cabinet beside the dishwasher," she told him, before standing up. "I er, I should get to bed." She gave him a halfhearted smile which he could barely see, "'Night." She said, barely hiding a sniffle.

Mort sighed. "Ya don't hafta pretend your alrigh' ya know," he told her, shaking his head. "I know you've been cryin'.She tensed, eyes narrowing. "Huh? Crap. Well, happens to all of us, right?"

She didn't want to talk about it. He understood that. He rarely cried, but when he was upset, he didn't like people seeing it. It was embarrassing, and a sign of weakness"Yeah. Look, if ya don' wan' me ta stay, I can go."

"It's after midnight! If you think I'm lettin' you leave this late, you're wrong." She paused for so long Mort thought she wasn't going to say anything else. "Really, I'm fine. But I'd rather not talk about it."

Good. He wasn't much for the emotional stuff anyway. He had just wanted her to know it was okay to be upset, but that didn't mean he wanted her to unload all her troubles on him.

"Anyway, I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the mornin'."

Mort planned on being long gone by the time she was awake, but he didn't tell her that. Better to let her think she was doing him a favour than risking her keeping tabs on him all night. Hell, she would probably stay in the living room all night in case he tried to sneak out.

"G'nigh'," Mort muttered as he watched Lydia retreat into her bedroom.

Five minutes later, Mort was also back in his room. This time, he didn't wake up until morning.

* * *

Mort woke to a loud crash from the kitchen. He jerked up with a start, fists clenched. But there was no danger. Back in the Brotherhood, loud noises usually meant either someone was breaking in, or someone had fucked up.

_I'm no' with them anymore,_ he reminded himself, _nothin's gonna happen._

But if there was noise, that meant Lydia was awake. And _that _meant he couldn't sneak away unnoticed. Fuck.

Curious, he peeked around the door to see what was going on. Lydia stood, still clad in pajamas, hastily shoving pots back inside a cupboard. He smirked when he noticed her pajama bottoms had tiny bats on them. How old was she?

She turned around, grinning when she saw him. "Sorry darlin', did I wake you up? My bad."

Darling. She had really called him that? It must have been a pet name she used on everyone, because he couldn't imagine why someone - let alone a stranger - would use that to refer to him. Even so, it brought a smile to his face. She was probably faking it, but she was treating him like a regular person, which was rare.

"Na, I was already awake." A lie, but whatever.

"That's fine, then." She gave him another of those cheerful smiles. The events of the night before seemed a million miles away. It was as if they had been roommates for years.

"I'm makin' pancakes. You want some?"

Mort was taken aback. She had stopped him from committing suicide, all but taken him hostage, cried all night, and now she was talking about _pancakes?_ Jesus Christ she got over things quickly.

"Uh, sure." What else could he say? He wanted to leave, but the way Lydia was looking at him - hands on hips, brow quirked - told Mort she wasn't going to let him go so easily.

"Awesome," she spun back around to face the cooker, picking up a large glass bowl from beside her on the kitchen counter. "What do you like with them? I've got chocolate chips, blueberries, syrup, and I _think_ there's lemon curd but I might be wrong…" she half turned around to look at him questioningly.

Mort however, was completely overwhelmed. Not once had anyone ever done something like this for him. Okay, so she was probably doing it for some weird, obscure reason, but that wasn't the point. The point was that for once, he was actually experiencing what a normal life was like. Even if it was for just one morning.

"Uh, plain's good."

She shrugged and turned back to her pancake batter, which she began to cook over the burner. "Hey, could you pass me the butter?" She gestured to the fridge. "It's… somewhere."

The fridge was surprisingly tidy. He would have thought, going by the rest of the house, that it would be at least a little messy. He found the butter on the top shelf and handed it to her.

As she plucked it from his grasp, their hands touched. He expected her to flinch away at his rough and slightly clammy skin, but she didn't even seem to notice. Either she was _seriously_ oblivious, or just incredibly hard to surprise. Mort was starting to suspect the former.

"Keep an eye on these, please. I'm gonna go get dressed." Lydia handed him the spatula and bounced off, leaving him to deal with the pancakes. The only problem was, he wasn't exactly much of a cook. Scratch that, he was hopeless.

Mort was struggling to turn the pancake over when he heard Lydia's bedroom door open. She arrived by his side a moment later wearing very _very _tiny shorts and an off the shoulder top which had some sort of dragon on the front. It was an odd choice of clothes, but he wasn't complaining. Those shorts looked good on her wide hips.

"...what do you think?"

"Huh?" Mort hadn't realised she had been talking to him. He had been too busy admiring her legs. Apparently she hadn't noticed, but she was expecting some sort of reply.

"I asked whether you think two pancakes each will be enough," she replied, and Mort suspected she was holding back a laugh.

"Oh. Uh, yeah." Though he wouldn't have minded more; living on the streets meant he didn't get to eat as often as most. In fact, he hadn't eaten in about two days, so he was starving. But he didn't want to show her just how bad he had it. It would only earn him pity and possibly disgust. Both of which he had had enough of in his life.

"Alrighty then." Lydia plopped four pancakes on a plate - two for her, and two for him. She handed him one and jerked a finger towards another cupboard. "Sweet stuff's in there if you want to put something on it. There's also fruit in the fridge." She opened it herself and took out blueberries, adding a generous amount to her plate. "Help yourself." She then made her way to the sofa, where she flopped down and began to eat.

Mort stood dumbly in the kitchen area for a moment, before grabbing himself some syrup and following her to the living room. He had decided maybe Lydia wasn't so bad.

A guy could get used to this.

* * *

"Okay, I think it's about time I took you home. Which is where, exactly?" Lydia smiled cheerily at Toad, before spinning around on her heel to grab shoes from the tiny cupboard by the door.

"It's alrigh', I can walk home myself," he answered, seeming a little too eager. Was he hiding something?

"Come on, just let me take you home. I need to go out anyway." She wanted to keep an eye on him. To make sure he didn't try anything. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving him, only for him to jump off another cliff or swallow a bunch of pills. She heaved in a breath as the thought crossed her mind.

"Seriously, it doesn' matter." This time he definitely sounded suspicious.

Why would he be so desperate for her not to know where he lived. Either he lived in a real shit hole or… or he didn't have a home. Oh.

Poor guy. No wonder he thought his life sucked. He had it really hard; much harder than she could imagine. She felt a pang of guilt over being so insistent now that she thought she knew the reason.

She turned back around, biting her lip. "You're homeless, aren't you?" she asked, even though she was already sure of the answer.

"What'!? No, I ain't homeless. Why would ya think that?"

She sighed, running a hand through long hair. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. But you were so horrified by the idea of me taking you home I assumed…" she trailed off, shrugging.

Toad's unique features were scrunched up in a childish scowl. It would have looked cute on anyone else, but with those eerie yellow eyes and sharp teeth, he looked pretty scary. Lydia frowned in response. He didn't frighten her, even if he was trying to.

"Do ya always go abou' makin' assumptions abou' people?" he snapped, golden eyes narrowing. A glare like that was enough to make her heart stop. "'Cause where I come from, that's considered pretty fuckin' rude."

Lydia held back her comeback, instead pursing her lips and crossing her arms. "I'm _tryin'_ to help you. And actually, if you had nowhere to stay I was going to say you could stay here. Is that really so awful?"

He just snorted in response. "I don' need your help, luv," he replied with a sneer. Lydia had to force herself not to flinch at the sight of those teeth. "'Sides, why would ya wan' to help me?" He said it in an offhand way, almost making a joke, but Lydia could detect genuine confusion in his voice. He really didn't believe she was doing this to be kind.

He had pretty much admitted he was homeless, but it seemed to her that he had serious trust issues. Whatever he had been through, it must have been horrible. There was no other reason for him to be so suspicious all of the time. Had someone betrayed him in the past? Or maybe it was just because of the public's poor view of mutants. Growing up mutant in this society couldn't have been easy.

"We've been over this," Lydia said, keeping her voice light. "You don't deserve this! I just want you to get back on your feet."

Again, Toad's face twisted into a snarl. "'Ow do ya know I don' deserve this? Ya don' know the kinda stuff I've done. I could be a murderer for all ya know." He pushed past her, heading for the door.

Lydia sprinted past him, standing between him and the front door. "Maybe you are, maybe you're not. Whatever. That doesn't mean you deserve all the misfortune in the world. Because let's face it, that's pretty much where you're at right now." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"So wha'? Your just gonna give a place to stay to every homeless person ya meet? 'Ow's that gonna work?"

"Uh," Lydia stammered. "Well I didn't really think of it like that. But I mean I help how I can! And right now I'm able to give you a place, so I'm offering." She had expected him to be _excited _at the chance to have a proper place to live. Instead, he was all but forcing his way out of her home.

He strode towards the door and Lydia matched his movements, pulling the keys from the handle. She was going to make him stay, at least long enough to cool down and consider what she said. And if he still said no, _then_ she would give in and say goodbye.

Before she could drop the key into her pocket, something slimy wrapped around her hand. She stared in horror at her arm. Was that a tongue? She glanced up, and sure enough, the long ropy appendage was in fact Toad's tongue. Her eyes widened and she jerked away, dropping the key in the process.

_He's definitely called Toad for a reason,_ was the only thought that came to mind.

As soon as the key hit the floor, his tongue disappeared back into his mouth. Before Lydia had a chance to recover he snatched up the key and shoved it roughly into the door. It swung open wide and he marched out, turning to look at her as he left.

"An don' bother followin' me, alrigh'?"

Lydia, still too shocked to reply, just blinked, staring after him. She rubbed her wrist, and felt something sticky. She didn't want to imagine what it might be.

A moment later, she shook herself out of her daze and sprinted to the door. "Hey, wait up!" she called, but he was already gone.

_Shit!_ That had been her last chance to help him.


	4. Chapter 4

It was almost a week since Lydia had seen Toad. The day after he stormed out of her home, she had seen him downtown, but she had still been too burning with embarrassment to talk to him. He had crossed the street just as she spotted him, and she hadn't followed.

But now, in her local supermarket, she kept thinking she had seen him. A man with curly black hair passed her, and she whipped her head around, thinking it was him. But then she saw his face - tanned skin, freckles, a pair of wide rimmed glasses - and she realised she was just being paranoid. This was getting ridiculous! She was probably never going to see the guy again, so why couldn't she just forget about him?

_Because you didn't do enough to help him, she told herself._

And then, a few minutes later, someone else crossed her line of vision. He had his hood up and was walking with his shoulders hunched in a way almost exactly like him. But he was far too tall to be Toad. Fuck, this was going to drive her insane!

Lydia tried to stop looking for him in the crowd of people, and quickly finished up her shopping. She wasn't helping herself, subconsciously searching for a guy she didn't even know. And even if she _did_ find him, what would she say? 'Oh, hey there! Sorry I gave you the wrong impression last time; but let me butt in again and try to help when you so clearly don't want me to.' Right, because that would go down so well.

It had also occurred to Lydia that when he left, he might have gone right back to where she found him. She didn't want to think about that possibility.

She forced a smile as the cashier asked her if she needed help packing. "No thanks, I'm fine," she told him brightly. Damn, even _he_ looked like Toad. Well, sort of. He had a nose piercing like him, and dark hair. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Lydia left hurriedly, picking up all three of her shopping bags and using her other hand to try and zip up her handbag. She made it to the car park, and stuffed the shopping inside the boot. As she stood on her toes so shut it, she felt something tug on her handbag. It slipped from her arm and Lydia spun around. What the fuck?

A short man with spiked blond hair held her handbag, and the second Lydia spun around he made to run off, but Lydia was quicker. Thank God for good reflexes. Her hand shot out and she grabbed him by the collar of his grubby shirt, yanking him back. He was a skinny guy and proved to be a lot weaker than she was.

In his fright he dropped the bag, squirming in her grip. Lydia squinted as she got a good look at him. He was only a boy really – seventeen, maybe a few years older. Not even in his twenties. He had pale, sickly looking skin and deep circles under his eyes. One sleeved was rolled up slightly and Lydia could see faint track marks up the vein.

She frowned slightly, thick brows knitting together. "Scram, or I'll call the police," she instructed. She didn't want to – even if he was on drugs. How could she do that to a kid? But if he tried anything else, she would have to.

He nodded, tugging himself from Lydia's grip. His legs were shaking, but he managed to run off at a good pace.

It was then that Lydia realised she had attracted some unwanted attention. It was late, but there were still a lot of people doing some evening shopping. A few people had stopped to stare, and one man had come over to ask if she was okay.

"Mm hm, yeah. He just took me by surprise," she answered simply, bending down to pick up her fallen handbag. She hoped he hadn't managed to take anything before he ran off.

"Are you sure?" the man asked, putting a large hand on her shoulder.

Lydia bit her lip. Honestly, she was perfectly okay. Living in this part of the city, things like that happened frequently. The kid hadn't taken anything – that she knew of, anyway, and she wasn't hurt. "Yeah, really, I'm okay. Thanks, though."

The man nodded and left, returning to his car. Lydia turned around and slammed the boot shut, then tossed her handbag into the passenger seat.

"Hey, ya dropped this." A pair of keys was dangled in front of her face from behind.

The voice startled her and she jumped. Rolling her eyes at herself she turned around, about to thank the person for noticing they had fallen. She stopped in her tracks when she saw who it was.

Toad shifted, looking very out of place and uncomfortable, but only for a second. She shoved one hand in his hoodie pocket and gave her an easy, slightly mocking smile. "Hey," he grinned, showing sharp, slightly yellowed teeth.

"Hi," Lydia answered, eyes wide. Relief washed through her. He was alive! He hadn't gone back and tried to jump the second she was out of his way. But there was something about that smile that didn't seem right. It was definitely forced.

She was going to ask what he was doing here, but realised it sounded rude. If she pissed him off again, he'd probably leave without another word. So instead, she just took the keys and muttered a quiet "thanks." It was stupid that it was the only thing she could think to say, but what else was there?

"Though' you'd be more pleased ta see me, the way ya were actin' last time," his smirk grew as he watched her take the keys. "Though' you'd be jumpin' with excitemen'."

Lydia scowled, but she wasn't annoyed. She was glad to see him, but she didn't understand why he was talking to her.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't expectin' you. You kind of ditched me, remember?" She cracked a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. "So what made you decide to come say hello?" Damn, she sounded snappier than she intended. She had been going for teasing, but just sounded irritated.

He shrugged, hunching up slightly as the man who spoke earlier passed, giving Toad a wary glance. "Dunno. I guess I though' you'd wan' to know I'm okay." He paused for a second. "An' I was wonderin' if tha' offer was still open."

He had been so angry when Lydia had suggested it before he had stormed out in a huff, and now he wanted to stay with her? Lydia should have given him a piece of her mind, but honestly she was sort of glad. He was actually letting her help him, which was a surprise twist.

"It is," she replied with a frown. "Is that the only reason you came over? A guy did just try to mug me you know." He could have at least pretended he wanted to make sure she was alright. But apparently he only wanted her for the free accommodation.

He gave another shrug. "Yeah well, ya looked like ya had things under control. I bet ya coulda beaten him up no problem, if it took your fancy."

She nodded, not knowing what to say. "I _did_ take care of things pretty well, huh?" she smiled again, hoping he wouldn't take her scolding too seriously. "Okay hop in. I'm done shopping. You want to grab anything before we head to mine?"

Toad shook his head and his curls bounced beneath the bandanna. "Na. I ain't got much worth keepin'."

Lydia sucked in a breath and nodded. He had it so much worse than she could ever imagine. She had always been relatively well off, and had never had to worry about financial or family problems. Some people weren't so lucky.

"In that case, straight home." She gave him a warm smile and hopped into the driver's side. After a moment of hesitation, Toad got in the car, too. He carefully moved aside her handbag, almost as if he was afraid to touch it.

They drove in silence. At first it was awkward and stuffy and Lydia didn't know what to do to make it stop, but after a while it became oddly comfortable. She glanced over a few times, and each time Toad's gaze was fixed on the window. She guessed maybe he wasn't as casual about this as he made it seem. He was back in that odd hunched position. It looked _incredibly _uncomfortable. But clearly he didn't think so.

When they arrived at her tiny bungalow, Lydia opened her door and went to get the shopping. But he was way ahead of her, and had already opened the boot by the time she was there. He had all three bags, and when Lydia tried to take one he waved her off.

"I go' this. Or don' ya trust me ta pick up a few groceries?"

She just raised a brow and went along with it. He was being oddly nice, she noticed. Nice and very sassy, but definitely not an anger fuelled asshole like before. Maybe if she had met him under better circumstances last time, he would have been more like he was now. Although, some of that teasing sass did seem put on for her benefit. But there would be no more intrusion for her. If he wanted to talk, then great, but she wasn't going to push him for an explanation. Not yet, anyway.

"Dump the stuff on the kitchen counter and I'll put it away later," Lydia instructed as she opened the door and glided inside. "Do you want anything to eat?" she was trying not to sound like she was babying him, but she was also worried that he hadn't eaten in a while. Maybe it was his natural build, but he looked very lanky. Skinny, even.

"Yeah, that'd be great, love."

Lydia smirked at the nickname. Okay, so he probably used it with everyone, but it was nice to hear him use a term of endearment. She turned around to look at him, but he wasn't looking at her.

Toad was looking at her shoes. For some reason, they seemed to hold his attention for a few seconds longer than normal. Eventually he looked up at her. "Mind if I keep my shoes on? Freaky mutant an' all tha'. I think the green an' webbed fingers are enough, ya know."

Shaking her head, Lydia sighed. "I'm not goin' to freak out or anythin'. But if you want to keep them on, then that's fine." She smiled reassuringly, letting him know it was okay to relax. She just hoped he actually would. "And there's nothin' wrong with the green. Or the webbing, for that matter."

She moved into the kitchen area, aware that Toad wasn't following. She turned around, registering the shocked look on his face. Poor guy obviously wasn't used to acceptance.

"So, food," she said, standing by the fridge. "It's late and I'm lazy as fuck, so do you want to just get take out?"

He shrugged. "Works for me."

Lydia smiled and bounded over to the phone, which was sitting on a small table in the living room. "Anythin' specific?" she questioned.

"Na. I'm no' fussy."

Well, in that case, pizza it was. She dialled up the number for the closest pizza take out and ordered a large chicken and pepper, with potato wedges as a side. She paid over the phone, said thank you, and hung up.

Toad was slouched on the sofa, in a position probably meant to look relaxed, but to Lydia he looked like he wasn't sure what to do with himself. She flopped down beside him, curling her feet up onto the arm of the sofa, picking up a blue cushion and hugging it to her chest.

"Food will be here soon," she told him with a bright grin.

He nodded in reply, but said nothing.

"So," Lydia was the one to initiate conversation. "What's your name? Your real name, I mean." If they were going to be living together, she wanted to know at least the basics.

"Mortimer," he replied, cringing. "Bu' I don' like it. Call me Toad. Or if ya _really_ can' do tha', Mort'll do."

"Mort? Yeah, I can work with that. It's actually a pretty cool name." She smirked at his disbelieving look. "What? It _is!_"

He just snorted and shook his head. "Yeah, righ'. I know it ain't a good name. Ya don't have to pretend otherwise."

Lydia pouted. What did it take to get him to believe _anything_ good was true? God he needed to lighten up and stop acting like a bratty kid. A sly grin worked its way onto her face as she picked up the cushion again. She held it for a few seconds before throwing it at his face. It hit him with a satisfying 'thump' and fell onto his lap. If he was going to act like a grumpy kid, she would treat him like one. And kids _love_ pillow fights.

He glared daggers at her, and in response she sighed heavily. "Jesus! I'm just tryin' to lighten the mood!" she threw her hands in the air dramatically and tipped her head back. A second later, she felt something connect with the side of her head. She looked down, and there was her pillow lying on the floor.

"Alright, this means _war!_" She laughed lightly. Finally! He was acting like a normal guy! Fair enough it probably meant she was going to get her ass kicked at pillow fighting, but so what?

She ducked her head just as another cushion was launched her way, and snatched up the first one. "Seriously, I mean it! No one's _ever _beaten me at pillow fights before. _Ever._" A complete lie, but he didn't need to know that.

He smirked, and with the teeth he looked absolutely terrifying. Good thing Lydia wasn't easily intimidated.

"That so? Well, me neither." And then another pillow was sent flying, skimming over the top of her head.

That meant Lydia had a total of four cushions, which was all of them but one. She tossed two at him in succession, before quickly ducking for cover behind the armchair beside the sofa.

"Are ya always this childish?" Mort asked, and when Lydia peaked over the top of the seat she could see him grinning.

"Not _always,_" she replied, taking a risk and standing up. "But it's working, right? You're loosening up." Her grin matched his, and she hopped over the armchair to settle down in it.

"Yeah, well, we're gonna be stuck together, righ'? Migh' as well make the best of i'." He paused, opening his mouth a few times as if unsure how to continue. "I probably shoulda said thanks before, huh? I'm jus' no' used to people doin' nice stuff for me. So uh, thanks."

"No problem," Lydia responded, a little surprised by the sudden openness. Not that she was complaining, but it still took her by surprise. There was definitely something to Mort he didn't want people to see.

The doorbell rang, and they both jumped. No way was that the pizza already.

"Hold on, I'll get it."


	5. Chapter 5

Lydia bounced to the door, plucking her keys from the table as she did so. When she opened it, she was bombarded by a tight hug.

"Hey sis! How've you been?" Lydia was pushed out of the hug lightly. It was Drew, her brother. Boy was she glad to see him. He was a short, thickly built man in his mid-twenties with closely cut dark brown hair. He grinned, showing a metal tongue stud.

"Drew! Hey! What are you doin' here so late?" Not that she didn't want to see him, but it was nine o'clock and he lived half an hour away. Either he was _really _eager to see her, or using her as an excuse to go to the bar a few blocks away.

"Just here to see my big sister. And I got you that game you wanted. Think of it as an early birthday present." He took something from his coat pocket and handed it to Lydia.

Was that what she thought it was? Hell fucking yeah it was. It was the game she had had her eyes on for months. It was old, but looked like good fun. "Holy shit! Thanks! And you got me the limited addition case! This is _so cool_." She was beaming as she pulled Drew in for another hug.

Her brother was the best in the world.

"Yeah, I know." Drew smiled and laughed cheerfully. He walked down the short hallway, heading towards the living room, glancing behind him. Apparently he was making sure Lydia was following.

"Hey hold on a sec," Lydia spoke, quickening her pace so she was walking alongside him. She should probably let him know about Mort before they met. "There's someone else here you should meet." She had the feeling Mort wouldn't be too happy about that, but what choice did she have? They were roommates now, and he was bound to run into Drew at some point.

"Uh huh, okay. Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Wait I know, it's another friend you've found again from your college days, right?" Drew smirked as he walked into the living room, but stopped abruptly when he saw Mort.

"Nope, he's my new roommate. Drew, meet Mort. Mort, this is my baby brother," Lydia padded forwards, feeling the tenseness in the room thicken. Well, shit. Going by the look on Drew's face, he didn't think much of Mort. His thick brows were knitted together and his head was slightly tilted, as if trying to figure Mort out.

And going by the look on Mort's face, he really, _really_ wanted Drew to leave. His glare was enough to scare anyone, and his fists were bunched up defensively.

"Okay… I can tell you guys aren't fond of each other," Lydia glanced at her brother, and then to Mort, neither of whom had moved.

"Lydia, why is this guy _green_?"

Lydia winced inwardly. She should have seen this coming. Drew was a great guy, and generally laid back. But he could also be a complete jerk to people he didn't like. Insulting, rude and cruel. And he always thought he was being justified.

"What, ya never seen a mutie before?" he was grinning, seemingly unbothered by Drew's rudeness, but Lydia noted his use of the derogatory term for mutants.

"Look, I don't mean it like that! But you guys get a lot of bad press. I just don't want Lydia getting mixed up in anything." Drew's frown turned into a glare and he folded his arms. "There's a lot of shit about mutants right now. How do we know you're not going to hurt her?" he turned to Lydia. "How do you know you can _trust_ him?"

Lydia chewed the inside of her lip, glancing between Mort and Drew. "I don't, I guess. But he's had _plenty_ of opportunities to do something shitty, and he hasn't. That's got to mean _something_!" Her voice rose in volume and she crossed her arms, mirroring Drew's actions. She sure as hell wasn't going to let him insult Mort. He was trying to dissuade her from letting him stay. Well, it wouldn't work. She had made up her mind. She had made it up the second she saw Mort try to jump from that bridge.

"Fuckin' hell! I ain't gonna do anythin' to Lydia. If ya don't shut it though, I might do somethin' to you."

Drew simply snorted in response. "Yeah, yeah. You talk big, but I bet you can't do shit. Look, just leave Lydia alone and I'll go. But I'm not going _anywhere_ until I know you're leaving, too."

"Hey, I didn't wan' to do this at firs', but your sister's real nice for lettin' me stay. A lot be'er than you, that's for sure."

"Yeah, she's kind. And _insane_ for thinking this was a good idea!"

She had _had _it with these two! Lydia hissed out a breath and stormed over, placing herself directly between them. If they didn't quit it, she would forcibly throw Drew out and give Mort a serious reprimanding.

"Would you _stop_ talkin' about me as if I'm not here! Don't get any say in this?" She groaned, exasperated. Honestly, they were almost more stress than they were worth. Why the fuck did everything with Mort have to end in an argument? More to the point, why did Drew have to be so horrible?

"Yeah, sorry sis, but I just want you to realise how dangerous-"

"Yes, housing a mutant stranger is dangerous. But do you know what else is? Housing a non-mutant stranger. Regular people are just as likely to be murderers, muggers or whatever as mutants, but people forget that. So please_, shut up _and stop interfering, okay?"

She heard Mort snigger from behind her, and whirled around. "And _you_," she pointed an accusing finger at him. He wasn't getting out of this unscathed. "You can stop laughing and admit you were egging him on."

His grin turned to a frown, and he scrunched up his face.

"Thank you. Okay, so you guys aren't going to be best friends, obviously, but for fucks sake at least _try_ and get along. Or if you can't do that, at least acknowledge the fact you don't like each other and leave it at that. No more _shouting_, or I'm going to go crazy!" Lydia ran a hand through her hair. She was going to get a huge headache if this kept going. She should have stopped Drew at the door. Made up an excuse not to let him in so she could think up a better way to introduce the two at a different time.

Drew sighed heavily. He was rolling on the balls of his heels, and his mouth opened as if to argue, but he seemed to decide against it and shut it again. After a moment, he looked directly at Lydia and said, "sorry. I just really don't think you've thought this through. I mean, offering a room to a stranger is bad enough, but a mutant..." he trailed off. "But it's your choice. If anything happens though, you let me know right away, yeah?"

"Fine. But nothing will happen. I can handle myself, as you damn well know."

* * *

All this guy seemed to fucking care about was the fact Mort was a mutant. He had expected it. Everyone reacted the same; fear, disgust or both. He should have been used to it by now, should have become unresponsive and indifferent. But he had never really become totally numb to it. He never would. The horrified looks he received hurt a lot more than he would ever admit.

"Look, Drew, thanks for coming over and everything, but I really think you should leave, you know?" Lydia placed a hand on her brother's arm, lightly pushing him towards the door.

She was tossing out her brother? Good riddance. Mort could tell the guy would start something the second he entered the room. It made him realise maybe going to Lydia for help had been a shitty idea. He was only going to mess things up for her. It had taken him a long time to swallow his pride and go to her for help. But the alternative was letting himself go and ending up trying to kill himself again. Sometimes he still wished he had, but after his first attempt had been ruined, he hadn't had the courage to try again.

Drew complied, slowly moving towards the hall, but he glanced behind him as he walked. "Yeah, I guess. But I don't want to leave you alone with _him._" He didn't even bother to hush his voice. Why would he? He had already voiced his opinion within earshot of Mort.

"I'll be fine," Lydia drawled, clearly fed up with the whole incident. "Mort won't do anything. Will you?" she turned around to smile half-heartedly at him.

"Right," he called back. How much reassurance did Drew need?

There was more talking, but from his place slouched on the sofa he couldn't hear anything else. He was almost glad, because it was _definitely_ about him. Or mutants in general. Neither of those were good.

A moment later Lydia reappeared, looking annoyed and tired. All of her earlier spunk had left. "I'm so sorry Drew was such an ass! I didn't think... didn't think he would be so _horrible._" She let out an exasperated gasp and collapsed onto the sofa beside him. She seemed almost as pissed off as he was. But he was a lot better at hiding it.

* * *

"I'm so sorry Drew was such an ass! I didn't think... didn't think he would be so _horrible." _Lydia fell onto the sofa, barely containing the urge to scream. Her brother was an ass sometimes! She never would have expected that kind of reaction from him, though. Never in a million years.

"Yeah, yeah, I ge' it. It's no big deal, seriously." Mort was still sitting on the sofa, but had curled up more. He wasn't splayed out taking up half the space anymore. "I'm used to it."

Lydia bit her lip and sat down beside him. She wanted to reach out a hand to him, but didn't know how he would react to physical contact. Instead, she just scooted closer to him. "But you shouldn't _have_ to be. I mean, do you really get that reaction from everyone?" Surely at least some people treated him like a decent human being?

He snorted and shook his head. He didn't say anything, but Lydia understood. Everyone either reacted like Drew, or worse. Lydia didn't know whether to be angry or upset. For someone to be treated like that by _everyone_, it wasn't right. It was settled, then. She would make an even bigger effort to make sure Mort felt welcome and wanted. She would be damned if she would let him keep feeling like crap. Maybe she couldn't make him get over his suicidal thoughts –only he could do that – but she could at least make things better for him. And maybe that would help, even if it was just a little.

"You're starin' at me."

Lydia blinked. Oh, oops. She hadn't realised. "Sorry; I was lost in thought," she explained. She didn't want him to be angry again – she remembered what that was like. "Hey, you want a drink?" he questioned as she got to her feet.

"Anythin' alcoholic?"

Lydia smirked. She should have known. Don't ask her why, but she had the feeling he would ask. "Yeah. I have beer, whiskey or vodka. But the vodka's off limits." She did _not _want a drunk stranger in her house, and that shit was strong.

"Beer's fine," he replied, and he sounded like he was stifling a yawn. "An' you were still starin'. Stop changin' the subject."

Lydia groaned quietly as she headed to the kitchen. Would he let it go? She hadn't even meant to stare! "I wasn't. Staring _or _changing the subject, I mean," she informed him with a roll of her eyes. Not that he could see.

She grabbed two beers from the fridge, popped them open and headed back to the seating area, handing Mort one as she did so. "Look, seriously. I literally don't give two shits about what you look like, okay? Hell, I used to know a guy who looked like a gargoyle. Fair enough I hated him, but that was because he stole my Gameboy when I was like fifteen." She wrinkled her nose. That guy had been a real jerk.

Mort snorted. It was somewhere between a laugh and a sound of disbelief. "Fine, okay. I believe ya. But why'd he steal your Gameboy?"

"Because I was playin' Pokemon and he was jealous mine was stronger than his."

This time, his laugh sounded more genuine. It felt good that she could make him laugh, even if it was at her own expense. Small price to pay, considering.

"You laugh now, but you should have seen it! My team was the best."

He rolled his eyes. "You're such a kid. How old are ya, anyway; twenty, twenty-one? You even legal?"

Lydia pursed her lips. No way she looked _that_ young. "Nope. Twenty-nine, actually."

"Well, ya look older but act a hell of a lot younger."

"Hey!" Lydia scowled and nudged him with her foot. He looked like he was going to flinch away, but much to her surprise, he didn't. "And how old are you? I'm going to guess forty." She was kidding, of course. It was hard to tell his age, but he didn't look middle aged.

"Fuck off! I'm in my thirties, thanks."

Lydia snorted and shrugged. She opened her mouth to say something else, only to realise there was _nothing else_ to say. She was good in awkward situations, but this was testing even her skills. How were you supposed to carry on a conversation with a guy you knew nothing about? Especially under those circumstances. All of their earlier banter had disappeared after Drew had practically gatecrashed. She would need to have a stern talking with him later.

Mort didn't say anything, either. Maybe he just wasn't talkative. Or maybe, like her, he didn't know what to say.

She fidgeted, sighing quietly. Fuck. She needed to say something, but what?

Just as things were beginning to get _really_ awkward, the doorbell rang again. Lydia gratefully uncurled from her position, feeling the tension leave the room. At least _something _had broken the silence.

"That's probably the pizza. Sit tight and I'll get it."


	6. Chapter 6

Lydia arrived back a moment later, holding the pizza box to one side as she nudged the door closed with her hip. When she glanced over, she noticed Mort was no longer sprawled out on the sofa; he was back in that odd crouch he seemed to love so much. Well, whatever – if it was comfy for him, it was none of her business.

"Hey," she called out to get his attention. "Grab a plate and help yourself." She stood on her toes to get two plates from the top shelf. She couldn't hear any movement from the living area. He must have heard her – even from the door there was a tiny space between them. Maybe he was waiting for her?

But when she turned around, Mort was right beside her, taking a glass from the draining board by the sink. Lydia jumped. How the _hell _did he get there without her hearing him? She blinked a few times, and then shook her head. This guy was just full of surprises.

"You're starin' again."

Lydia felt heat rise to her face. "Sorry! I'm not meanin' to, honest. You were just, uh, moving _really _quietly and I was trying to figure out _how_." She hoped he wasn't offended. She genuinely wasn't trying to be rude, but she had never met anyone like him before. He was an oddity, and not just because of his mutation.

Mort just shrugged and continued getting his drink.

_Please don't be annoyed, _she thought, _though you probably are. I don't blame you. _With a quiet sigh, she pulled a few pieces of pizza onto her plate and went over to the sofa. If he _was _annoyed, then she would find out soon enough. He was pretty good at hiding his emotions, she had noticed, but Lydia was also very good at reading people. She had had enough practice, after all; back when she had to look out for Daniel. She had to learn every tiny aspect of his body language so she knew if something was wrong, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. She had to, because he would never willingly go to anyone for comfort, even when he wanted it.

"You alrigh'? You're kinda… glazed over."

Lydia glanced up as Mort spoke. He was settling down beside her – noticeably at the far end of the sofa. She nodded in response. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinkin'."

"If you're worried I'm pissed, I'm no'," he spoke, though his face was carefully blank. "I don' like it when people stare, but I ge' it. Jus' try not ta keep doin' it, alrigh'?"

Lydia nodded. She got it, she really did. She was making him uncomfortable – and even though it was never intentional – she wasn't treating him like a regular person. And she should, because he was. A normal person just like her, but with a few added talents no one else had.

"I'll quit being a jerk. Cross my heart," Lydia crossed her fingers over her chest. "And if I don't, you have my permission to throw as many pillows at me as you want."

The comment earned her a small smile. Not much, but a small curl of his lips that made Lydia feel a little better.

Lydia balanced the plate on her knees as she leaned forwards, picking up the remote for the TV. There was nothing specific on, but TV and pizza was a habit long engraved into her. Maybe there would be a good movie on. A comedy, to try and cheer Mort up.

The channel the TV turned to showed something Lydia didn't immediately recognise. Then, she recognised one of the characters. So it was Lord of the Rings. Ugh. She moved to switch it over, but Mort spoke up.

"Aw c'mon, you don't like Lord of the Rings? I though' everyone did."

Lydia turned to him, brow raised. "_Please _don't tell me you're one of those fanatics," she joked. One of her best friends was obsessed with Harry Potter, and that was a nightmare whenever one of the movies came on.

"Eh, kinda. Why, you hate it or something?"

"Nope. I've never actually seen it. Not my thing; I'm more of a sci-fi girl."

This time Mort raised his brows, and he quickly snatched the remote from her hands. "Well then, I'm gonna force ya ta watch it. An' I bet you'll love it."

Lydia just went with it, sitting back and picking up a slice of pizza. Let him have his fun, he deserved it. Hell, maybe she _would _like the movie, though she doubted it.

* * *

They watched the movie mostly in silence, which was only occasionally broken by Lydia asking a question or Mort spouting out random trivia about the characters. Oddly enough, he wasn't feeling the least bit awkward.

He glanced at Lydia from the corner of his eyes. She was munching on a slice of pizza, curled up and looking utterly entranced by the movie. And she said she wouldn't like it. Well, she did, and he was going to rub it in her face.

He turned his attention back to the TV, and it suddenly occurred to him how _weird _this was. How _normal_. He couldn't remember the last time he had sat and watched a movie, or ordered takeout, or just sat in peaceful silence with someone. Even when he was with the Brotherhood he hadn't done things like that often – no, stuff like that was strictly reserved for people who got to live regular, boring lives. People who weren't him. Yet there he was, sitting with a woman he barely knew – a woman who, miraculously, didn't seem to mind his mutation – watching his favourite movie and actually managing to enjoy himself. That was something he hadn't done in months. All of his problems sure as hell weren't solved, but he felt as if they were slightly less overwhelming.

Lydia made a quiet, high pitched yawn and he felt her shifting beside him. When he looked over, she was stretching her arms out above her. He heard a joint crack, and she winced. "Sorry," she spoke, lowering her arms. "Dodgy back. Anywyay, I'm headin' to bed now. I'll see you in the mornin'," she smiled brightly before padding across the small space to her room. "'Night."

"Nigh'."

* * *

Mort woke up just before nine the next morning. He didn't want to get up – today he just felt like doing nothing. Even getting out of bed was too much. Yesterday had been a good day for him. Today wasn't. He didn't feel like facing Lydia, or dealing with his emotions, or even staying conscious longer than he had to. But he could hear Lydia shuffling about in the kitchen. If he didn't make an appearance at some point, she would probably worry and freak out or something.

With slow, sluggish movements, he dragged himself into a sitting position. There was a mirror across from the bed, and he scowled at his reflection. Without the bandanna to keep his hair flattened, it puffed up around his face in almost afro-like curls. Even after nine hours of restless sleep he looked like shit – there were circles under his half-open eyes. _Whatever_. He couldn't be bothered to make himself presentable. If he even _could. _

He pushed open his door and trudged into the living area. Lydia was by the kitchen with a glass of orange juice, putting dishes in the sink.

When she noticed him, she quickly turned around, smiling widely. She also deftly used her body to hide the pills from view. "Hey!" She gave him a small wave. "Mornin'."

He just nodded in reply, stifling a yawn. He flopped down heavily onto the sofa, curling his feet up in front of him.

"Want breakfast?"

He shook his head. "No' hungry," he muttered.

"Right…okay. I have to go to work, but I'll be back around three. I have the daytime shift this week." Lydia was standing in front of him, frowning. "Are you okay?"

"Jus' peachy," he replied shortly. It occurred to him he was being unfair to Lydia, but at that moment he just wanted her to leave him alone. He should have stayed in his bedroom.

"Well that's a lie. Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Really? It helps, you know."

"Don't you have work?" Why wouldn't she just leave him alone?

Lydia sighed. "I can take the day off. Pretend I'm ill. The boss will never know."

* * *

Lydia looked down at Mort, worry etched onto her face. Something was _definitely _wrong. He was acting all angsty again, and that wasn't a good sign. She supposed he was just like her brother – he had good days and bad days, ups and downs. And today was a bad day. If he was anything like her brother was, he would want company – but he was too embarrassed to admit it. Unless he really did want to be left alone, in which case she would.

"Jus' _don' _okay? Stop tryna take care of me. Go to work, alrigh'?"

Okay, so he did want to be left alone. He was making too big a deal out of it to be faking it.

"If you're sure, then I will. Assumin' you're okay by yourself." She didn't want to leave him alone when he was depressed.

"Wha'? Afraid I'll try ta kill myself while you're gone?"

"That's not what I – okay, I'll leave, if that's what you want." Lydia's chest tightened slightly. That hurt more than it should of. It wasn't about her, it was about him, yet there she was feeling offended. She told herself it wasn't personal, but it was.

Lydia turned on her heels and strode off, feeling a little hurt but mostly angry at the way he was dismissing himself.

She glanced at Mort as she picked up her leather jacket from the coat rack. He was still in the exact same position, completely motionless.

She really did feel like shit as she left, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Mort watched her leave, glad for the peace. He had almost chucked her out of her own home, but that barely crossed his mind. He had the place to himself. There had to be _something _worth his time, but his mind wouldn't focus on anything specific. Or anything at all, for that matter.

It took him only a few minutes to realise he actually missed her. The tiny flat was lifeless and boring without her cheerful Southern accent to listen to. Even when she was being irritating it was only because she was trying to help. Listening to her chat would have taken his mind of how shitty he was feeling, even if he didn't have the energy to talk back. He should have asked her to take the day off, like she said.

Nothing he could do about it now, except wait for her to get back. She had said three, right? That was only six hours. Scratch that, six hours was infinity. What could he do that would take six hours of his time? Nothing.

Deciding TV was his best bet, he reached for the remote and turned it on. A news station came on. A middle aged man with balding brown hair was talking about the 'mutant problem'. He sure wasn't going to suffer through _that. _The next channel was some gory zombie film. No thanks. He finally settled on an old episode of Star Trek, wondering idly if Lydia watched it. He would ask her when she got back. And apologise for being a dick. Maybe. He would have to swallow his pride for that one. He had never been good at apologies – the Brotherhood had never really been apologetic for _anything _they did, even when they messed up. Mort had never felt the need to apologise, until he realised how wrong the Brotherhood's actions were. He agreed with what they thought, not what they did. But he had been too fucking mindless to ever question Magneto, or anyone else.

And now all these thoughts were making him feel even worse. Damn, he needed to stop thinking about the Brotherhood. They were history – he had left them _months _ago. They didn't even know where he was, for God's sake! But his mind always wandered back to them at times like this. Times where he was feeling especially low.

With an exasperated sigh, he covered his face with his hands. Six fucking hours! He was going to go insane.


	7. Chapter 7

Lydia was half an hour late when she finally arrived home. One of the regulars at the bar she worked at had started a conversation and she had completely forgotten the time. So she had rushed home the second she realised. She just hoped Mort was okay. He had seemed really down that morning.

"Hey, I'm back," she called as she entered, kicking off her shoes by the front door. "Sorry I'm a bit late I-" she stopped when she saw Mort, curled up on the sofa, eyes closed. He was asleep. Well, she better not wake him - she would get absolute _hell _for it. He had been in a rubbish mood earlier – maybe sleep would help. She wasn't going to wake him up if that was the case. Quietly, she crept over, the soft carpet muffling her footsteps.

He looked peaceful. It was the first time since she met him that he didn't look angry or carefully indifferent. Even when he was in a good mood, Lydia got the impression he was faking some of it. But right then, he looked content. He was almost cute. _Almost._

Lydia smiled as she moved away, heading towards her bedroom. She didn't want to disturb him. She's let him sleep as long as he wanted. If it made him feel any better then it was _definitely _worth it.

Her work didn't have a uniform, but she usually wore plain clothes anyway. So she changed out of her black jeans and red top into something a little more _her _– a long tank top with a pink ribcage design and tassels, and a pair of bright pink skinny jeans to match. She also took her hair out of its low ponytail, letting it fall to her mid back. It was getting far too long and she should get it cut. Lydia had been telling herself that for weeks. Long hair was impractical, but she liked it.

When she went back into the living room, Mort had turned over, but going by the deep, rhythmical breathing, he was still sleeping. It was four o'clock. Lydia wondered how long he'd been sleeping for.

_Probably a while. He looks like he's in a pretty deep sleep. _

Lydia picked up a book from the small coffee table and sat herself down on the armchair. Would it look creepy if she sat there while he was asleep? She didn't want to seem like she was watching him. That _was _creepy, and he sure as hell wouldn't appreciate it. She didn't want to be locked in her room for an indefinite amount of time, either.

If he thought she was being weird, then so be it. She liked this armchair and she wasn't doing any harm by sitting in it. She opened her book and began to read. It was The Woman in Black. It was _terrifying_. Lydia had never been very good at handling scary movies or books. Which was ironic, considering she loved them so much.

She had only been sitting down a few minutes when she saw movement from the corner of her eyes. Mort was awake. Hopefully she hadn't woken him up.

"Hey. Sleep good?" Lydia's lips quirked into a smile.

She received a grunt in reply. He scrunched up his face, and Lydia could only guess it was an attempt to stifle a yawn.

"I'll take that as a no," she muttered. He was still feeling crap, then. Fuck. She had no clue how to cheer him up. He probably didn't even want her around. She frowned, fidgeting with a tassel on her top. "I can go chill in my room if you want to be by yourself."

"Na, I'd rather ya stayed here. Y'know…if ya wan' ta." He gave her a sharp toothed grin. She hardly even noticed the teeth anymore.

"Sure, I'll stay." Lydia wasn't going to pretend she knew what Mort was going through, but she understood that people needed others – not always for something specific, but just because they didn't want to be alone.

* * *

Mort rolled over, feeling the back of the sofa dig into his side. How long had he been asleep for? He stifled a yawn as he pushed himself onto his elbows. He didn't even notice Lydia sitting quietly until she spoke.

"Hey. Sleep good?" Her voice was cheery, as always. She expressed her happiness so easily; it was like she was never anything but.

Mort made an unidentifiable noise and sat up more. He wasn't in a talking mood. But he did allow himself to relax slightly. At least she was finally home – six hours felt like much more.

Lydia muttered something he couldn't hear. He saw her move from the corner of his eyes, but he wasn't looking directly at her. "I can go chill in my room if you want to be by yourself."

Shit, he did it again. Made it seem like he was annoyed with her. She'd only just got back – he didn't want her to disappear again.

He grinned and shook his head slightly. "Na, I'd rather ya stayed here. Y'know…if ya wan' ta." Did he sound pushy? He couldn't tell.

They lapsed into silence. Mort wasn't in a chatty mood, but even he noticed the mood become increasingly awkward. Lydia had turned her attention back to her book, apparently content. Mort slouched down further on the sofa, tapping his foot. He didn't know where to look, or what to say, or whether he should stay or go into his room.

He glanced over at Lydia. She was curled up in her chair, legs slung over the arm. He watched her as he tried to think of something to say. Usually he wouldn't even _care._ He never really spent much time in the company of strangers. A grin and sarcastic comment was usually enough to send them running. But Lydia hadn't shown any aversion to him other than a few odd looks and slight disgust towards his tongue.

Mort supressed a sigh, closing his eyes and rubbing a webbed hand down his face. Damn, why did it have to be so hard to think of something to talk about? He was _fucking useless._

Finally, Lydia spoke. Thank _God_. Now he didn't have to be the one to start a conversation.

"I should have said this before, but there's a bunch of books and stuff in my room. X-Box games are in the drawers in the table." She stretched out a leg to open a drawer with her foot. "No deleting my saves, though." She smiled brightly. Those smiles of hers were almost managing to make him feel better. Her whole face lit up even when she just smirked. She was infectious.

"Your room? Ya mean ya actually trust me not ta go through your panty drawer?" He wouldn't, but he was just teasing. It was a bad habit he couldn't break. If you didn't have confidence, then fake it. It had worked so far. Sometimes, he almost convinced himself he _wasn't _faking.

"If you do, you're dead." Lydia looked him straight in the eyes, face blank. After a moment she laughed. "I'm kidding! I trust you. But if you_ do, _I'll know."

Would she still be so willing to trust him if she knew who he was? Ex-Brotherhood, killer, terrorist. _No way. _She would call the police and throw him out if she knew. Hell, she would be right to.

When he focused back to Lydia, she was rifling through the drawer. Suddenly, an X-Box controller landed on his lap.

"Want to play? I've got a whole bunch of multiplayer stuff." Lydia wiggled her eyebrows and held up five games. "Call of Duty and Left 4 Dead are my favourites."

Well, it was better than sitting around feeling sorry for himself. That was becoming a common thing nowadays. He still felt slightly sick and was tempted to just go to bed, but maybe spending some time doing something he liked would take his mind off things. Hopefully, anyway. If not, he could always go back to his earlier plan and call it a night.

"Sure. I've go' nothin' better ta do." He smirked as he leaned forwards to grab a controller, before settling himself into a more comfortable position. "I'll give Lef' for Dead a whirl. I've never played it before." It was about zombies or something.

Lydia jumped up, slotting the disk into the X-Box. "Cool! I bet you'll love it," she echoed his own words from earlier.

Lydia sat on the sofa beside Mort, slinging her legs over the arm like she had on the chair, body twisted so she was facing the TV. She was uncomfortably close to Mort, who instinctively leaned away. He wasn't used to people being – or at least acting – so comfortable around him. People avoided him, were disgusted by him, _hated _him. Yet there was a perfectly normal, non-mutant woman sitting so close to him he could hear her breathing. And it didn't seem to bother her.

Or maybe it did. She had turned her face away, but he could see her expression. Her nose was wrinkled, eyebrows knitted together.

It was then that it occurred to Mort that he hadn't showered in _weeks. _He never showered much anyway due to soap irritating his skin, but it had been a while even for him. Mixed with the odour of the slime-like substance he naturally secreted, he probably smelled revolting. Another bloody downside to his mutation. Were there even any upsides? He had become so used to it he hardly even noticed it anymore, so sometimes he forgot about it. Lydia didn't have that benefit.

Maybe if he acted like he hadn't noticed, Lydia wouldn't bring it up.

His wish was granted when the game started, distracting him from his thoughts. Lydia too, turned her attention back to the TV, smiling as always.

They chose their characters. Lydia insisted on being some guy in a leather jacket. "I'm always Francis," she informed him as she selected the character. "Literally always."

Mort just shrugged and went along with it. He didn't look that great, anyway. The old dude looked better. Not that it mattered – it was just a game.

Who was he kidding? He took games way more seriously than he should.

* * *

Three hours and two campaigns later, and Mort was actually enjoying himself. A small voice inside him told him she shouldn't be – he had no right to be having a good time, especially with a non-mutant. She wasn't doing this because she genuinely wanted to help him – non-mutants couldn't be trusted. He should be trying to figure out how to get his own place so he didn't have to crash with her, not shooting zombies and watching someone try to handle a console while drinking coke.

Speaking of, Lydia wasn't doing so well.

"You're gonna die ya know. Why can' ya jus' pause?" Mort snorted.

"Na, I got this," she insisted, right as the bottle slipped from her fingers.

Without hesitation, Mort's tongue shot out, catching the bottle before it could fall.

"_Shit!_ I forgot you could do that!" Lydia took a slow breath. "That's gross."

_There we go_, Mort thought bitterly. _She's not as unfazed as she claims._ He should have known her acceptance of him was too good to last.

"Gross buy _awesome._"

So now she was trying to cover up her mistake by faking compliments? It wasn't fucking working.

"Ya can stop actin' like you're not freaked out. I can tell ya are."

* * *

_Here we go again. _

Mort looked _pissed. _He sat rigid, webbed fingers curled tightly around the controller. He was almost snarling, mouth open to reveal those sharp teeth.

Why couldn't he just accept that she liked him? Fine, admittedly, the tongue thing was weird and his pitch black eyes were unnerving, but so what? It wasn't like she was making snap judgements or insulting him. She was _trying _to be nice about it – as subtle as possible. She hardly even noticed most of the odd little quirks about him now.

It was a perfectly normal reaction for her to be taken aback. She still felt like _shit _for it though. "Yeah, okay, you surprised me. Doesn't mean I'm freaking out." She gave him a small smile, edged closer to him. He shifted nervously in response, but still held the angry, indignant expression.

"Bullshit. C'mon, ya keep starin at me, an' I saw tha' look earlier – when ya sat beside me? Ya looked pretty grossed out if ya ask me."

Lydia fought back the urge to groan. Instead, she bit her lip and closed her eyes. He had a point. She had tried not to show it, but he _did _smell pretty bad. God, that sounded mean. But it was true.

"Not true," she reassured. "I'm just… still adjusting to you I guess." She winced. That sounded better in her mind. "I mean I'm not used to having another person in the house, you know?" Fuck, that wasn't even anything to do with what he said.

"Fine. Whatever." He looked away, and the angry mask slipped away. For a brief second, he looked so upset – so _vulnerable _– that Lydia almost reached out a hand to take his. He jerked away, and her hand dropped. Lydia breathed out shakily, fighting back tears of her own.

He acted so tough, but he wasn't really. At least, not as much as his outward attitude would suggest.

When he looked back at her, his face was blank. "Think I'm gonna go ta bed. 'Night." He got to his feet abruptly and strode off without another word.

And again, Lydia had royally _fucked up._


End file.
